T'U'GS 3:10 Happy Hour
by The Big Lazy Dragon
Summary: Angela and Brooklyn are stunned when Don drags home a drunken Demona after he takes her out for a few drinks.


Happy Hour

Written by Donald E. Fleming II

Story Concept by Donald E. Fleming II

Disclaimer: All Gargoyles characters are the property of Disney and Buena Vista Studios and are being used without their consent or permission. Other Gargoyle characters are the property of The Gargoyle Saga (TGS) writing staff and also are being used without their permission. The character of Don Michael Taylor is my creation. I am receiving no reward for this story other than the satisfaction of being able to share it with others as it is intended solely for my own entertainment and the entertainment of Gargoyle fandom everywhere.

**September 21, 1999 **

**Nightstone Unlimited**

**Office of Dominique Destine**

"Ms. Destine?" Candice said as she poked her head into Dominique Destine's office.

Dominique Destine looked up from the reports she had been reading to look at her secretary. "Yes, Candice. What is it?"

"This just came for you," she said, holding out a small package.

Dominique took a cursory look at the package, which was addressed to her and marked 'Fragile: Glass' before returning her attention to the report. "Could you open it? I'm still going over this report."

"Of course," Candice replied. It wasn't the first time the busy CEO had asked her to open her mail. It was rare when she did so herself. Candice carefully tore open the brown paper and took out the contents.

It was a gold bi-fold frame. Candice opened it carefully.

"Oh, how beautiful," she said before looking at Dominique. "I didn't know that Angela got married."

That tore Dominique's attention away from the report. "Let me see that!" she snapped.

Candice handed her the frame and Dominique yanked it out of her grasp. _When I find out what sneak took pictures…_she thought until she took a look at the photograph.

It was Angela, all right, but in her human form, wearing her wedding dress, or a very good likeness of the one she had worn on her wedding day. Standing next to her was a human male in a tuxedo. At first, Dominique couldn't figure out who it was, but then she realized that it had to be Broadway. She remembered then, Broadway had looked similar in appearance when Puck had turned Goliath and his clan into humans. Of course, he looked just a little slimmer in the picture. She looked at the inside cover of the frame. It was a wedding invitation. Or rather, a duplicate of the wedding invitation that would have gone out if Angela had had a human ceremony.

"You are cordially invited," she read aloud. "To the wedding of Miss Angela Brigitte Destine to William 'Broadway Bill' Rockford on Tuesday, June 1st, 1999 at 12:00 PM." Angela's name was right, Dominique thought, although she couldn't be sure about Broadway's. Angela hadn't told her the name Broadway had used when Alexander Xanatos turned her daughter and the Trio into humans for a day. The date was correct as well, although the time was seriously off. She looked at the RSVP at the bottom. There were two numbers. One was her private number at home, and the other was undoubtedly to the gargoyles private quarters at the castle. But who would have that much information about them? And who could manage a picture of Angela and Broadway…

"Who sent this?" she asked.

Candice looked at the outside of the wrapper. "Um, DMT Studios," she said.

"DMT…" Dominique started, but then she relaxed and smiled. She knew who it was now. DMT stood for Don Michael Taylor, her newest _human_ friend.

"Is there a problem?"

Dominique looked up at her secretary. "What…No, no," she replied. "It's just that…well, I thought I'd never get the pictures back."

"Problem with the photographer?" Candice asked.

"Problem with the one that was hired, yes," Dominique lied, since Xanatos hadn't hired a photographer for security reasons. "But one of Bill's friends was there and took some pictures of his own." She looked at the picture again. "He certainly did a better job than the one I hired." She left the frame open and set the picture on her desk.

"May I?" Candice inquired as she reached for the picture.

"Certainly."

Candice picked up the picture and looked at it again. "Nice looking fellow she married. 'Broadway Bill'," she said as she read the invitation. "That's an unusual nickname."

"College nickname," Dominique quickly said without thinking.

"Football scholarship?" Candice asked. "He certainly has the build for it," she added as she set the picture back on the desk.

"Angela never mentioned it," Dominique said. "I guess I should have asked when I met him."

Dominique quickly realized that she was going to have to keep up the ruse when questions concerning Angela were asked but at least she had a good start.

"Is there anything else?" she asked when she realized that Candice hadn't left the office yet.

"You wanted me to remind you about the P.I.T. meeting at the gallery this afternoon."

"Oh, thank you, Candice," she said as she looked at her watch. The meeting was set for 2 PM and it was just now getting close to 1:30. She took a look at the report on her desk and sighed. She would never finish going over it before two o'clock, and she had promised Andrea she would be there. "I probably won't be back today," she said as she stuffed the report into her briefcase. She'd go over it later, either after the meeting or later that night at home. "Call Xanatos and confirm the meeting between ourselves and the representatives from Cyberbiotics for tomorrow morning. And let me know if there are any changes."

"Of course, Ms. Destine," Candice said as she left the office.

Dominique picked up the picture again and smiled as she looked at it. "I'm really going to have to find how you did this, Don," she said.

**Valjean Gallery **

**Manhattan**

Andrea Calhoun studied the photographs that the P.I.T.'s newest recruit handed to her.

"These are really great, Don," she said as she found one that caught her eye. It was a picture of Angela and Broadway, hugging each other on one of the footbridges in Central Park, with the full moon just behind them. Andrea felt a tear well up at the corner of her eye.

"Are you okay?" Don asked. "There's nothing wrong, is there?"

"No," she said, wiping away the tear. "It just that this one is really beautiful. And believe it or not, I know these two."

"Angela told me," Don said. "You painted a picture for her wedding."

"I wish I could have stayed for the ceremony and met her mother," Andrea sighed. "She must be one lucky gargoyle to have such a lovely daughter."

Don almost responded, but then Andrea caught sight of Dominique Destine as she walked in. Andrea quickly waved her over.

"Dominique, I want you to meet someone," she said. "This is…"

"Don Taylor," Dominique finished with a smile. "We've met before."

"It's good to see you again, Ms. Destine," Don said.

Andrea was taken slightly aback by this. "I didn't know you two knew each other," she said.

"Don used to work as a security guard at the Nightstone Newtech facility that was destroyed last month," Dominique said. "I had my temporary office there while a systems upgrade was going on at the main facility." She looked at Don. He had almost died trying to get her and Angela out of Newtech, and if it hadn't been for the Bloodstone, he would have. "Now he's a part of Nightstone's PR staff."

"I'd heard about the fire," Andrea said. "How bad was the loss?"

"We're still going over the damage estimates," Dominique said. "Fortunately, it was a facility that was being completely retrofitted and rebuilt for new production equipment that had yet to be installed, so the loss of materials wasn't that great. Mostly construction equipment and office materials. Although there were some injuries." Dominique had a hard time meeting Don's gaze at that moment.

"I'd heard that a gargoyle was hurt," Andrea said.

"Two, actually," Don said. "Angela and…" He hesitated as he looked at Dominique. "Another one that I don't remember."

"Oh, no!" Andrea gasped. "Are they okay?" Then she remembered the picture Don had handed her. "I guess Angela would be, wouldn't she?" she said as she handed the picture back to him.

"May I see that?" Dominique asked. Don handed her the picture and she smiled when she saw her daughter and Broadway in a loving embrace. "This is very nice work," she said, handing the picture back to Don. "As good as the one you showed me before. Better in fact."

"I hope they think so," Don said. "I just got this set back from the developers and I haven't had a chance to show them to the clan yet."

"When did you take this one?" she asked.

"About the same time as the others," Don said. "After I got out of the hospital."

"You got hurt, too?" Andrea asked. She looked him over and found several scars on his face and hands. They were light, hardly noticeable unless someone was actually looking for them. Andrea looked down at her own hands, which bore the scars of her own act of bravery when she tried to rescue some of her gargoyle artwork that a group of Quarrymen had tried to destroy several years ago.

"I got hurt pulling Angela and the other one out of the fire," he said. "Almost died, actually."

"So what did happen?" Andrea asked, still concerned about the welfare of the other gargoyle that had been injured.

"Angela suffered a few bruises and some smoke inhalation," Don said. "The other one…" he trailed off as he took another sideways glance at Dominique. Andrea still didn't know that Dominique herself was a gargoyle, and he knew that she wanted to keep the deception going. "I'm not too sure what happened to her. I'm pretty sure she's still alive because I vaguely remember someone saying that she walked out of the hospital sometime before sunrise."

"You don't know?" Andrea asked.

"I don't remember," Don said. "I do remember leading her up to the fifteenth floor to try to get out through the roof, but we were cut off by the fire. We ran through one of the hallways, but I caught sight of a couple of explosives in one of the offices and I had just pushed her out of the way when they went off. After that, it's a complete blank."

Dominique remembered what happened after that. She had pulled his limp form out from under the debris and carried him to what she had thought was a safe office, hoping to glide limply to the rooftop of the Newtech warehouse across the street. But then, after opening a window, another bomb went off that knocked her out of the window and sent both her and Don plummeting towards the street below. It was only through sheer luck that she managed to hold onto him and to place herself between Don and the roof of the car that she smashed into. As it turned out, her sacrifice was almost in vain.

"Explosives?" Andrea gasped. "It was sabotage?"

Dominique quickly hushed her before answering. "I'm afraid so. At least the evidence points in that direction. But it's something I'd like to keep quiet."

Andrea lowered her voice, mindful of the growing number of P.I.T.-sympathetic people gathering in the gallery. "Who would do such a thing?" she asked.

"Take your pick," Don said. "There are any number of groups still out there that hate gargoyles."

"Not to mention the fact that Nightstone Unlimited has become a major contributor to PIT over the past year," Dominique added. "That fact alone probably made Newtech a very tempting target."

"And no one's claimed responsibility yet," Andrea asked.

"Not publicly, no," Dominique said, even as she remembered what Elisa had told her about the one suspect they did have. "But we will find out who was responsible."

Andrea looked at her watch. "Listen, I'd like to be able to ask some more questions about what happened, but the meeting's about to start. I'll talk to you later."

"I'll catch up in a minute," Don said to her retreating back. Andrea waved over her shoulder at them.

"Thank you," Dominique said to him.

"For what?"

"For not blowing my secret," she said, turning to face him. "And for the lovely picture you sent to me of Angela and Broadway." She smiled at him. "That was also a very nice piece of work. Although…"

"You'd like to know how I pulled it off," he said.

"Yes, especially since illusion spells don't photograph," Dominique told him. "And the fact that you have shown a reluctance in mastering your abilities."

"Shhh," Don said, putting a finger to his lips. "Trade secret," he whispered.

Dominique smiled, deciding to allow Don to keep his secret. _After all, he wasn't the only one there with a secret to hide, now was he, _she thought.

But she did note that his eyes had a faint glimmer when he spoke.

Don turned his head as he caught the sound of someone speaking in the next room. He bent his right arm and offered it to Dominique. "Shall we?"

Dominique slipped her hand under his arm and smiled. "Let's."

**Destine Manor**

Demona wasn't at home when Angela and Brooklyn arrived. Angela opened the balcony doors with the key that her mother had given her and then tapped in the security code on the panel that Demona had installed after the incident with Sekhmet.

"Looks like nobody's home," Brooklyn said. He was still a little nervous about accompanying Angela to Demona's home, even after what he had seen of her future. _Remember,_ he told himself,_ this is the Demona of now, not then._ He stepped out onto the balcony and waved to his children.

"But this was supposed to be our night," Angela said. "I can't believe that she would forget. And she so wanted to spend time with the twins."

"Maybe she got stuck at the office," Brooklyn said. He turned as he heard Graeme and Ariana land on the balcony and walk inside.

"Or maybe she got stuck in traffic," Graeme chimed in.

Brooklyn almost smiled at the notion. "Boy, that would give her chauffeur a shock," he said. "Not to mention snarl up traffic for hours."

The sound of a vehicle pulling into the drive drew their attention. Brooklyn cautioned the others to wait inside as he crept out onto the balcony to take a look.

A Jeep Wagoneer pulled to the front of the house and Brooklyn saw someone get out of the driver's side, then walk over and help someone get out of the back seat. From the way the passenger sagged, Brooklyn could tell that whoever it was, they were not in the best of health. Then he caught the shock of red hair and realized that it was Demona.

Brooklyn rushed back inside and headed for the front door.

"What is it?" Angela asked.

"It's Demona," he said. "I think she's been hurt."

"What?" Angela gasped as she rushed to follow, Brooklyn's children close on her heels.

They reached the front door just in time to hear a key turn in the lock and the door slowly open. Angela's eyes went wide as she watched her mother being dragged in by someone.

"What are you guys doing here?" she heard him say. She recognized that voice. It was Don's.

"This is the night I always visit my mother," she said. "What happened to her?"

Brooklyn spotted something in Demona's hand and stepped forward to take it from her, figuring that it was a weapon, but stopped short when he realized what it was.

Demona lifted it to her lips and took a long swallow of the contents.

"I don't believe it," he said, crossing his arms and grinning. "She's plastered."

Demona took one look at his silly grin and burst out laughing.

Angela couldn't believe the scene before her. Demona had gotten drunk, completely, gloriously drunk and apparently she had enjoyed herself doing it. She had one arm flung across Don's shoulder and was sagging so badly that he had to place his arm around her waist to hold her up. Her state of dress was something unusual as well. Instead of her carefully tailored business suit, which she would have been wearing as a human and would now be in tatters if she had changed while wearing them, or the more typical halter and loincloth that she wore as a gargoyle; she was wearing…and Angela had to blink just to make sure she wasn't seeing things…blue jeans and a plaid shirt of all things. Fortunately, the clothes had weathered her change well. The back of the shirt had ripped open when Demona's wings had emerged, and the jeans didn't seem to be giving any indication that they were going to split any farther along the seam her tail had burst through. The knees were ripped open where her knee spurs had poked through the denim. Demona's feet were bare; she held what looked to be a very expensive pair of boots in the hand she had around Don's shoulder.

Angela was so stunned by her mother's appearance that she almost didn't hear Ariana's question "What's plastered?"

Graeme nudged his sister and made a drinking motion with his hand.

"Knock it off, Graeme," his father scolded.

"Sorry, Dad," his son said.

Angela went to her mother and took her other arm to help Don support her. She gave Don a sour look, suspecting that he had something to do with Demona's current state of intoxication. "What did you do to my mother?" she asked.

"I asked her out for a few drinks," he said innocently. "If I'd known she was going to start drinking people under the tables, I would never have taken her to that bar."

"Which bar?" Brooklyn asked.

"It's a new place that opened up not too far from my apartment," Don said. "It's called 'Bronco's'." He began to pull Demona over to the couch. "It's a country and western bar."

Brooklyn stifled a grin. _Oh, the price I would have paid just to have seen that!_ he thought. "Did you take any pictures?" he asked jokingly.

"Brooklyn!" Angela said angrily.

Demona lifted her head and looked at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time that night. "Angela, hi!" she said cheerfully. "What are you doing awake?"

"It's after sunset, mother," Angela said.

"Is it?" she said, surprised, then looked down at herself. "Did I change? I didn't feel it happen."

"I'm surprised you can feel anything at all," Don said. "You were probably too numb to feel it happen."

"Num…nu…nmb," Demona struggled, trying to get her lips and tongue to form the word 'numb' before giving up and cracking up again.

Angela shot a look at Brooklyn as a snicker escaped and he quickly placed his hands on his beak to keep from laughing out loud. He quickly turned his attention to Graeme and Ariana.

"Kids, I think you should go join your mother at the Labyrinth," he said, trying to keep a straight face despite the fact that he was just one slurred word away from completely losing it.

"But…" Ariana started, but Brooklyn quickly ushered them out the door.

"Go!" he said, then whispered to them. "And not one word of this to anybody." As much as he was enjoying himself over Demona's self-inflicted condition, he wanted to keep this from reaching Goliath's ears.

"Yes, Dad," they both said before leaving.

He closed the door quietly and turned back to Angela and Don as they finally maneuvered Demona to the couch and set her down. He did note that neither of them had yet to take the bottle out of her hand.

"Perhaps you'd better tell us what's been going on," Angela said, crossing her arms to glare at Don.

"It all began at the P.I.T. meeting this afternoon…"

**Valjean Gallery**

**Manhattan**

Dominique sat at the back of the room listening intently to Jeffrey Robbins as he finished speaking. She had to admit he was good. She had met Hudson's friend at Angela's wedding only briefly, but it wasn't until now that she had actually listened to him speak. He'd talked about some of the stories he had written recently, which she knew had been related to him by both Hudson and Brooklyn, and she had found herself reminiscing.

Don looked over at her and caught the faraway look in her eyes. "Pleasant memories," he asked after Robbins left the podium.

"Hmm," she asked before she caught onto the question he asked. "Some, and some not so pleasant."

Robbins stopped to talk to Andrea briefly as the meeting adjourned before his German Shepherd Gilley led him over to Dominique and Don.

"A wonderful talk, Mr. Robbins," she said as Robbins extended his hand. He took her hand and paused for a moment before kissing the back of it.

"I've had some excellent source material to work from," he replied. He paused again before continuing. "Excuse me for asking, but should I call you Dominique or Dem…"

"Dominique," she said quickly before looking around to make sure Andrea was out of earshot. "Or Ms. Destine if you like." She moved closer and whispered to him. "Although I am surprised you were able to guess."

"It was easy," Robbins said. "I am a good listener after all, as well as a good writer."

Dominique became aware of Don's presence at her arm. "Oh, and this is…"

"Don Michael Taylor," Don said, extending his hand. Robbins took it and noted the firm grip.

"So you're the Don Taylor Hudson has talked about," Robbins said. "I understand that you've an interesting story yourself."

"No wonder my ears have been burning the past week," Don laughed. Robbins joined in the laugh and Dominique smiled.

"So I understand that you have been doing some photography," Robbins said. "I wish I could see them. Andrea tells me that some of the shots you've taken are quite lovely."

"Yes," Dominique said. "In fact, he took the most interesting picture of Angela and Broadway…" She gave Don a look that indicated that she was not going to rest until she found out how _that _picture was taken.

"I told you before, Ms. Destine," Don said. "Trade secret."

"You and Angela have been conspiring, haven't you?" she said. "And here I thought you worked for me alone."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She looked at Jeffrey Robbins. "The Christmas before last, Angela gave me a picture portrait of myself and her to keep in my office." She quickly looked around to make sure no one overheard. "It was a picture of us in human form," she added. "And she has yet to tell me by what magic she managed that."

"And illusions don't photograph, I take it," Robbins said.

"Correct," she continued. "And this morning, I get a wedding photograph of Angela and Broadway," she said as she shot a look at Don, who looked back at her innocently. "Again in human form. And I would like to know how you did that," she finished, turning to face Don. "Especially since you haven't expressed any interest in developing your abilities."

"Now that would be telling," Don said.

"You are, by far, the most exasperating human…" Dominique began before Robbins cut her off.

"Ms. Destine," he said. "What does it matter how the pictures were taken? It should be enough that you enjoy the gifts, instead of trying to figure out how they were produced."

Dominique sighed. "Very well," she acquiesced. "It was a lovely gift."

"You should tell Angela," Don said. "After all, the picture was her idea. I was just the photographer."

"And sorcerer," Dominique put in. "And don't try to deny it."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Dream of what?" Andrea asked as she approached.

Dominique and Don turned to look at her and Robbins turned in the direction of her voice.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," they all said, stumbling over each other's words.

"Well, come on," she said. "There's a couple of critics from the New York Times here to look at the exhibits."

The three plus one German Shepherd followed Andrea into the gallery, just in time to see a Molotov cocktail being thrown into the room. It hit the floor and broke, spilling its contents onto the floor and then catching fire.

"Demon lovers!" came a shout from outside. "Evil spawn!"

Dominique looked outside and caught sight of at least ten people holding up placards, each with a message of hatred towards gargoyles on it. She snarled as she saw at least two Quarrymen masks in the bunch.

"NOOO!" she heard Andrea scream. Once again, fire threatened to consume her precious work.

Fortunately, Don quickly grabbed a fire extinguisher and smothered the blaze. Another firebomb was lobbed and Don surprisingly caught it and then tossed it out the door towards the protesters. It exploded in their mists before too many could scatter out of the way and two of them were quickly covered in flames. Don quickly ran outside and extinguished the flames, only to be set upon by the protesters. Her anger rising, Dominique jumped into the fray, trying to do as much damage as she could. Several others joined in as well, including Dominique's driver. Just then police sirens filled the air and three squad cars pulled up. Matt Bluestone jumped out of the unmarked unit that pulled up seconds later. The police quickly rounded up the protesters that hadn't run at the sound of the sirens.

"Everyone okay?" Matt said.

Don let go of one of the Quarrymen-hooded protestors, whom he'd had face down against Dominique's limousine, into the arms of the police.

"You'll be hearing from my attorney," he said as his hood was pulled off and his hands were cuffed. "You used unnecessary force and all that."

"Would someone advise this jerk of his right to remain silent," Don said. "Before I shut him up permanently?"

"Gladly," one of the officers said. "Okay, scumbag. Listen up and listen good. You have to the right to remain silent, so shut up! Anything you do say will probably bore me to tears…"

Don smiled as he went over to where Andrea and Robbins were helping Dominique to her feet. Dominique had taken a shot to the nose, which was now bleeding. In addition, her suit had been ripped in several places and her hair was disheveled. Overall, she was a mess.

Andrea was trying to get her to tilt her head back while trying to pack her nose to stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, Dominique was not cooperating.

"I'm all right," she protested. "I've been hurt far worse than this before, Andrea. I'll live."

"Oh, please, Dominique," Andrea said. "It won't hurt to accept a little help now and then." She touched her friend's injured nose.

"Ouch!"

"Okay, maybe just a little," Andrea said.

"I'm going to look like Brooklyn, I just know it," Dominique said without thinking. "Nose all red and swollen…"

Andrea stopped her ministrations and looked at her in shock. "You know them?"

"That's the name of the red one, isn't it?" Dominique quickly recovered. "Brooklyn?" She looked at Don. "He showed me some pictures of the rest of the gargoyles."

"Yeah, like the one of Brooklyn and his family."

Andrea remembered that one. In fact, she had asked Don for a framed copy of that very picture for a gallery she was preparing for Seattle. This answer seemed to satisfy her.

"Here, let me take a look," Don said as he stood in front of Dominique. He tilted her head back and made to look as if he were examining the damage. "Nice save, Dominique," he whispered. He tilted her head one way then the other, looking at both sides of her nose, which had indeed started to swell, but he suspected it would go down shortly. "You almost muffed it that time."

"I was upset," she said quietly. "I wasn't thinking straight. If I had been, I certainly wouldn't have tackled that bas…"

"Uh, uh," he said, silencing her. "A woman of your high standing doesn't use such harsh language."

"A woman of my high standing doesn't get involved in a common street brawl," she returned. "And believe me, I've used harsher language in the board room. You can ask Angela if you don't believe me."

"I don't doubt it," he said. He let go of her chin and turned his attention to Andrea and Robbins. "I think she'll be okay," he said as Dominique touched her nose lightly. "Just bruised her pride a little."

Matt Bluestone chose that moment to come over and begin taking a statement. "We certainly do meet under the most interesting circumstances, Ms. Destine," he said as he got to Dominique.

"Have you two met before?" Andrea asked.

"Police investigation, Miss Calhoun," Matt said, recalling Dominique Destine visit to the precinct not too long ago.

"I thought we were over and done with those madmen," Dominique said. For a moment, Andrea thought that she had actually snarled.

"We thought we had them all," Matt said. "But it looks like we missed a few. Or maybe these are just some of those that Castaway had recruited early, but didn't fit his profile. Weren't 'concerned' enough about the gargoyle threat."

"Whatever," Dominique said. "Are we free to leave?"

He looked at Don, knowing that he could face charges for throwing the firebomb back at the protesters, but decided not to pursue the matter at the moment. "Yeah, you can go," he said. "If there's anything else, I'll call you."

When Bluestone left, Andrea quickly rushed into the gallery to check the damage. Fortunately, Don's quick action had resulted in damage only to the floor and the lower portion of one wall. None of the paintings had been touched.

"Thank goodness," she sighed. Walking outside, she took out her cell phone to place a call.

"Well, it looks like the excitement is dying down," Don said. "How's everyone feel about a drink?"

"Not me," Robbins said, flipping up the crystal of his watch and feeling the position of the hands. "I have to catch a plane to Los Angeles in the morning, and besides Hudson is coming over tonight. More stories."

Andrea hung up and turned to consider the offer. "I can't either. I've got to stay until someone shows up to go over the damage and get the exhibit crated up for Seattle."

"That leaves you, Dominique," Don asked. "Buy you a drink?"

"I can't," she said. "If Andrea's staying here…"

"I'll be fine, Dominique," Andrea said. "Go. Have a few. I'll be fine."

"Okay, but first…" Dominique went over to her limousine and talked to the driver. "It's settled then," she said when she returned. "My driver will wait here with you and then drive you home when your done."

"Dominique, I couldn't…" Andrea protested.

"Nonsense," Dominique said. "He'll be glad to do it. Not to mention that he's very capable of handling anyone who tries to make trouble." She turned to Robbins. "Do you need a ride?" she asked.

At that moment, a cab pulled up. "No, I'll be fine," he said. "You two go and enjoy yourselves." He and Gilley got into the cab and were gone.

As Andrea went back inside the gallery, Dominique turned to Don. "I believe you offered to buy me a drink?" she said.

"And I know just the place," he said. "But first, let's see about getting you cleaned up."

"You have got to be kidding," Dominique said as he drove his Jeep into the shopping mall.

"You said you'd think about it," Don said.

"I changed my mind," she said. "I am not going to subject myself to the indignity of Western Wear!"

It had taken him an hour to find a clothing store that would barely meet with her standards, and now she wasn't sure she wanted to go through with it. _Western Wear,_ she thought. Denim and ugh plaid! Okay, she thought, so denim wasn't all that bad. She reluctantly admitted that she did indeed have a few jeans at home, but she never went out in public in them. Next, she'll be dressing like Detective Maza, bomber jacket and all!

She looked over at Don and sighed. He didn't appear to be leaving.

"Okay," she said, surrendering. "One outfit. But I am not wearing boots!"

She had to admit, the boots felt great. And the stitching was done rather well, too. Definitely worth the 250 dollars she'd spent on them. She could just imagine the expressions on her employees' faces if she came to work like this. Expensive boots. Designer jeans that accentuated every curve. She had even given in to the God-awful plaid shirt, which she wore unbuttoned but tied at the front, displaying plenty of midriff, and a modest amount of cleavage. One final change she made before leaving the changing room. If she was going to let her hair down, so to speak, she might as well go for a complete package. She reached up and undid her hair.

When she walked out of the changing room, the saleswoman couldn't believe it had been the same woman who entered several minutes earlier. Dominique paid for her purchases and joined Don outside.

"Now for that drink," he said.

**Bronco's**

Don looked at his watch. He didn't want to spoil Dominique's fun, but it was getting late. And she had said that Angela was bringing Brooklyn's twins over for a visit.

When they got to 'Bronco's', she understood the choice of clothing he had picked out. Mademoiselle Dominique Destine would certainly be out of place in a bar like this, in her tailored business suit and high-minded attitude. But now she could blend in. Or at least try to. More than one urban cowboy had commented about the 'classy looking redhead' at the bar, more envious of the guy that she was with than anything else. She thought little of it. As long as they kept their hands to themselves, she wouldn't have to hurt them. And so far, no one had made the attempt.

Then, one beer led to two. Two led to four. Sometime after six, Dominique started on Tequila shooters. Then she started to get silly.

Someone played Moe and Joe's 'Honky-Tonk Queen' on the jukebox. When the song was over, Dominique was on the floor laughing. Something in the song had struck a chord with her and Don guessed what it had been.

To think when they got there she had dismissed country and western music as being only about lying, cheating, dying and stealing.

"It's not all about that," he said defensively. When she'd raised an eyebrow, he added. "Okay, a lot of it's about that. But not all."

To prove his point, he'd gone to the jukebox and found a favorite. When it was done, she'd realized she left out one category. Drinking.

After she started drinking people under the tables, Don decided that it was time to leave.

"Come on, Dom," he said. "Time to go." He placed his hands around her waist and pulled her out of her seat.

"But I was ahead," she said. She had bet she could drink any three guys under the table and she had, but now she was ready to start over.

"How's the nose feel?" he asked. Somewhere along the line, her nose had healed, but it still looked a little puffed up.

She reached up and paused. "Mine or yours?" she asked, looking at him.

"Yours," he said.

She tried to look cross-eyed at it, gave up and pinched it with her finger. "Feels okay to me," she said. Then she reached over and pinched his nose. "Yours feels okay too," she added drunkenly.

"That's what I thought," he said. She was numb. Probably won't even feel the change when it hits. He put her arm over his shoulder and maneuvered her towards the door. When he got her outside, he realized that somewhere along the way she had snagged a bottle of Tequila. He thought about taking it away from her, but a quick look at the position of the sun killed that idea. The last thing he wanted on his hands was a drunken, unhappy gargoyle. He quickly opened the door to his Jeep, immediately thankful for the fact that he had bought one with four doors, and eased her into the back seat. After a moments thought, he reached in and pulled the boots off her feet.

She looked at him oddly. "Are we going to make out now?" she asked.

"No," he said, holding up the boots. "You spent a lot of money on these. It'd be a shame to ruin them." He tossed the boots on the floor and closed the door.

**Destine Manor**

Brooklyn was all smiles when Don finished his tale. If he hadn't seen the state Demona was in now, he wouldn't have believed it.

"I never pictured Demona as a two-fisted drinker," he said.

"I never thought I'd see anyone drink three guys under the table like she did," Don added.

Angela couldn't imagine it either. "Mother, you didn't."

"In a row," Don continued.

Demona waved the Tequila bottle in the air. "And they made a most agreeable thump when they hit the floor," she said triumphantly. She took one more swallow of the bottle and realized that it was empty. "Aww," she said. "I didn't save any for you." She let the bottle fall to the floor.

"That's okay," Don said. "I think we've all had enough for one night."

"And just how much did you have?" Angela asked, crossing her arms across her chest. "You didn't drive here intoxicated, did you?"

"Don't worry, Angela," he said. "I had two beers and that was it. I swear."

Angela wasn't entirely convinced, but he did seem to be in better condition than her mother was at the moment. Though later, she would have a long talk with Elisa about this.

"Come on, Brooklyn," Don said. "Let's get her upstairs."

Together, they got Demona to her feet and walked her upstairs to her bedroom, Angela following close behind. When she realized she was being moved, Demona opened her eyes to take in the two males on either side of her.

"Hi, Brooklyn," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought Ariana and Graeme over to visit," he said. "But I guess you don't remember Angela telling you about it."

"Of course, I do," she said. She started to turn around and almost threw them all off balance. "Where are the little dears?"

"Whoa," Don said, holding on to her. "They had to leave. You're not exactly in the best of condition right now."

"Oh, piffle," she said.

"Piffle?" Don asked.

"She said piffle," Brooklyn said.

"That's right, piffle!" Demona said. "Full of piff!"

"Oh great, now she's quoting Benny Hill," Brooklyn said.

"Let's get her in bed before she starts singing Monty Python," Don said hurriedly.

Angela looked at her mother, lying face down on the bed. Somewhere between the top of the stairs and her bedroom door, she had finally lapsed into blissful unconsciousness. Now she was snoozing peacefully. She looked back at Don. Brooklyn had already headed back to the castle. Angela hoped he would keep his mouth shut about this.

"You are not to do this to my mother again," she warned. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," he said.

"And not one word to anyone."

"Don't worry," Don said. "I will not breathe one word about this to anyone. You have my word." He looked at the unconscious gargoyle on the bed. "Think you can handle things from here?"

Angela looked at Demona again. "I think so."

Don turned and left as Angela started undressing her mother.

**September 22, 1999**

**Destine Manor**

Someone was using a very large drill to make a very large hole in her head.

Dominique groaned as she tried to block out the pain and the sound that caused it. Finally, she flung her hand out wildly and connected with something. She felt around, made contact with a button and the drill disappeared. But the pain remained and she realized she wasn't going to be able to banish it quite so easily. She turned over and slowly opened her eyes.

Lasers pierced her eyes and lanced into her skull. She immediately shut them, but the damage was already done. She could feel her brain being roasted to a crisp. If only she weren't immortal, she thought. At least then she could retreat into the peaceful bliss of Death. But that retreat was denied her. At least, she wasn't suffering alone, she thought ruefully. Macbeth was no doubt in agony and cursing her name somewhere.

The drill started again. She quickly silenced it again, and then yanked it out of the outlet. But now it was too late. She was awake now. Awake and in misery. She turned over onto her back and flung her arm over her eyes.

"Oh God, just let me die!" she pleaded.

No answer. She hadn't really expected one. With no other recourse, she dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom.

She dimly remembered the previous night. After she and Don got to 'Bronco's', everything melted into a blur. How much had she had, she thought? She remembered the first few beers, but not much after that. After she turned on the water for the shower, she began to pull off her clothes, only to discover that she wasn't wearing any.

Anger replaced agony then, and she stormed out of the bathroom, looking for something to use to kill Don. _How dare he take advantage of…_ Her toe hit the corner post of the bed, and she cried out in pain as she lifted her foot in response, losing her balance, and falling to the floor with a heavy thumb.

"That miserable son-of-a..." she started to curse.

The bedroom door flew open, and Dominique looked up as she heard a startled gasp. "Mother!"

"Angela?" she started, confusion beginning to replace the rage she felt. She cast a quick eye towards the window, wincing slightly as the sunlight hit her eyes, and then turned her attention back to Angela. "What? How..."

Angela quickly went to her mother's side and helped her to her feet. "You don't remember last night?" she asked.

"Only bits and pieces," she admitted as Angela maneuvered her onto the bed. The throbbing pain she felt was beginning to fade, and she put her foot down tentatively. "Most of last night is still a blur."

"Don brought you home last night," Angela said. "You were drunk."

The events of last night began clearing up, and Dominique moaned as they did. "I must have been quite a sight to behold," she said regretfully.

"It wasn't one of your better moments, mother," Angela said.

"Did anyone else...see..." she asked hesitantly, hoping that no one else had seen the sorry state she had been in, but the apologetic look on Angela's face was her answer. She seemed to recall that Brooklyn had been there, and the twins. _I'll bet Brooklyn absolutely enjoyed seeing me like that,_ she thought, groaning.

"We brought you upstairs," Angela stated. "I waited until Don and Brooklyn left before I got you ready for bed." She paused for a second. "I couldn't find anything for you to sleep in," she said. "So I just left you in what you had on underneath your clothes."

Dominique looked down at herself. She still had on the bra and panties she had worn yesterday, although there was a gaping hole in the back of the panties. If Don had taken advantage of her in her intoxicated state, as she had initially thought, she probably wouldn't have even had those on.

"Are you going to be okay, mother?" Angela asked in concern.

Dominique turned to look at her daughter, focusing for just a moment on the pendant that hung around Angela's neck, the same one Angela had worn roughly two and a half years ago when she spent the day with her mother at Nightstone. The pendant held off the stone sleep, but at a price. Obviously, Angela had put it on so that she could be awake when her mother woke up. "Yes, I'm going to be fine," she said. "I've suffered far worse hangovers than this one." She groaned openly as she pushed herself to her feet and took a few uneasy steps towards the bathroom. "You can go back to the castle, Angela. I'll be okay after a shower and some coffee."

"Actually, I'd like to stay for a little while longer," Angela said. When Dominique turned to look at her, she quickly continued. "If it's okay, I'd like to continue studying my lessons from last week."

Dominique thought that over for a moment. Then she smiled. "I guess it'll be okay," she said, happy that Angela was taking her studies so seriously. _She'd probably be better off staying here anyway, _she thought. It was better than her risking the glide back to the castle during the day. "Just so long as you are careful," she quickly added. "I don't want to come back later and find a smoldering crater where my house once stood."

Angela smiled and gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek. "I promise to be careful, mother," she said. She then turned and hurried out of the bedroom, leaving her mother to get ready for work. Dominique took a deep cleansing breath and headed into the bathroom.

**The Eyrie Building**

David Xanatos looked at his watch. She was late. Dominique Destine was never late. Except for that one time when Angela had altered her memories, but she could hardly be faulted for that.

"Shall I call Nightstone and reschedule the appointment, Mr. Xanatos?" Owen asked.

Xanatos looked at the copy of the _Daily Tattler_ on his desk. "No, I'm certain she'll be here shortly, Owen."

As if on cue, the door opened and Dominique Destine entered the office.

"Good morning, Ms. Destine," Owen said.

"Good morning, Owen," she replied. "Xanatos," she added.

"Good morning, Dominique," Xanatos said with a sly look on his face. "If you don't mind my saying so, you look like hell."

She looked at him and caught the expression on his face. _What does he know?_ she wondered. Then her eyes fell on the picture and the banner headline on the _Daily Tattler._

She grabbed it and looked at it. It was her and Don, sitting together at the bar at Bronco's. The headline read '**Nightstone Ice Queen CEO Melts Over Desert Storm Vet.' **She groaned as she sagged into the chair and dropped the paper into her lap.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Xanatos asked.

"Yes," she said. "A gun. So I can shoot myself."

The End


End file.
